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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25338496">crossing mid-ocean for the flood</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ConsultingFreak/pseuds/ConsultingFreak'>ConsultingFreak</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Alex Stern - Leigh Bardugo</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Death, Demons, F/M, Going to Hell, My First AO3 Post, Slow Burn, Supernatural Elements, alex's weekend getaway to the infinite unknown, dumb title, ish? darlingstern is endgame, warning for brief mention of gore/blood</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 05:41:11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>7,441</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25338496</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ConsultingFreak/pseuds/ConsultingFreak</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Alex had always known that she would enter Hell alone.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Darlington/Alex Stern</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>43</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>uuuuuuh I've never posted anything on this website before go easy on me </p><p>This is just my take on the quest to find darlington, bc I have now listened, read, and listened again to ninth house in efforts to ease my impatience for the next book but it's only getting WORSE </p><p>ANyways I wrote this pretty quickly and it's minimally edited and completely unbeta'd. I have zero knowledge of how formatting works on this site so there will probably be some wack moments. if that ringing endorsement doesn't get you onboard idk what will. Hope y'all enjoy!!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Michelle and Dawes had been adamant about playing a role in Darlington’s retrieval, but Alex had always known that she would enter Hell alone. </p><p>Of the three of them, she was the closest to it already; she was a criminal, once, and though petty theft was the least of her offenses, she knew she had what it took to steal the golden boy of Lethe back. She knew getting there wouldn’t be a problem for her, ultimately. Getting back, on the other hand . . . </p><p>She had always known she would enter Hell alone, but she was hoping that she wouldn’t be leaving it the same way. </p><p>. </p><p>It was in the Borderlands that Alex had first heard of the Gentleman Demon, so it was the Borderlands where she began her journey. From what she understood about demons, it was easier for them to pass through the different layers of the Veil and back; from what she knew about Darlington, she guessed he would have seized the opportunity to plunge himself into the dark and the deep, were it not for his circumstances. As it was, she suspected he wouldn’t have lingered where there was nothing to keep him occupied, and if he couldn’t go back, he would go forward. </p><p>Her pockets filled with sacred herbs and her brow anointed, Alex crossed the river of the Borderlands, as scaled beasts brushed against her legs. At the opposite shore there waited a crowd of Grays, some familiar faces, others indistinct. Alex reached the shore, the spirits seemed to surge toward her, before shying away. Several spirits had materialized before Alex; the young women she had freed from Daisy’s greed, whose names she now had scrawled in tattoo ink across her ribs. Names hold power.</p><p>As Alex made her way through the crowd, they stayed by her side. Their protection meant more than she could put to words, and when the Greys thinned, and the girls bid her goodbye, Alex clasped each of their hands in hers. The last of the women to depart was Gladys O’Donahue. </p><p><em>“Take courage,”</em> she said simply to Alex, and pressed cool lips to her brow. </p><p>.</p><p>Alex encountered her first demon well into her journey through the Veil. </p><p>They were tall, and somehow Alex could tell they were old. There seemed to be gaps in their form, wounds that were filled in with darkness—as though in their time in the beyond, they had gradually lost pieces of their human self, and had replaced them with concentrated power. What was left of their face was beautiful and smooth, a dark brown complexion free of any scars or blemishes—save the place where their left eye was gouged out. Dried blood was crusted around the empty hole. </p><p><em>“Tell me why I do not end you right here.”</em> Alex swore her heart stopped for a second in her chest as the demon spoke with her grandmother’s withered voice. Alex had never become fluent in Ladino, but she somehow understood anyways. </p><p>The demon regarded her with no malice, just curiosity. <em>“Speak, traveler.”</em></p><p>Alex’s throat was so dry that her words came out as a croak, but she knew what she had to say—she had prepared for this, she just had to make it happen now. </p><p>“I walk the wheel,” Alex said simply. “And the wheel hasn’t stopped spinning yet.” </p><p>The demon sneered. <em>“A broken wheel doesn’t spin, and you would be easy enough to break.”</em></p><p>Alex shrugged. “But then you never see where it would have gone.” </p><p>The demon let her pass. </p><p>.</p><p>By the time Alex made it to the river Lethe, she had grown unbearably weary. All she wanted was to lay down, let it wash her clean, like she had done after Ground Zero. Hellie wasn’t here now to pull her out, though, and her memories kept her tethered to the world she’d left behind. She would need them to pull herself, to pull Darlington, from the abyss.</p><p>The river extended in both directions endlessly as far as Alex could tell, and the opposite bank was either too distant to see, or obscured by mist—she desperately hoped for the latter. </p><p>Alex searched along the riverbank until she came across a wraith; a spirit so old, that had ventured so far, that it was nearly indistinguishable. Upon facing the wraith, Alex felt its gaze on her, and the weariness threatened to overwhelm her. She desperately reached in her mind for her plan, the preparations she had made, but they slipped away in a fog of tiredness, of eternal late nights in the library struggling through coursework and hours of sleep lost. </p><p>Alex was vaguely aware of her knees hitting the ground, of the wraith reaching down to her coat pocket and retrieving something. Then a sudden sensation of falling seized her and forced her back into awareness, and Alex gasped. She was still on her knees, on the ground before the wraith. The feeling was the same as that of shooting up in bed upon waking from a falling dream. </p><p>The wraith held her wallet, and was fishing around. It removed dollars, then cents, then the picture of her mother, and finally her student ID. It tossed her empty wallet back to her, turned, and beckoned her to the edge of the Lethe. </p><p>Alex scrambled to follow, shrugging off the bizarre feeling of indignation. She had just been shaken down by an ancient spirit, she realized, and suppressed the mad laugh rising in her throat. Honestly, though, what was a wraith gonna do with ten bucks and her ID? Sell them?  </p><p>She hadn't actually been mugged, Alex realized; as she approached the water she saw a rowboat. The wraith was simply taking its payment. They boarded, the wraith handed Alex a set of oars, and together they set off. </p><p>Quickly, Alex realized that she was supposed to be directing them—the wraith was lending her use of the boat, and another set of hands to propel it, but she was the one in charge of where to go. The idea might have thrilled her, if she’d had any goddamn idea how to steer a canoe. </p><p>.</p><p>After what seemed like hours of spinning about aimlessly and making little forward progress, Alex wanted to shout. They were in the middle of the river now, surrounded by mist, and Alex had no idea what direction she was supposed to go in. Alex growled and hit the side of the canoe with her oar. </p><p>The wraith turned to look at her, and though it was featureless, Alex thought she could detect some disapproval. </p><p>“Sorry,” she muttered. </p><p>They drifted, and the moment stretched into minutes. Alex’s arms were shaking. She didn’t know how long she had been traveling, but she knew it was a while, and she hadn’t slept or eaten. She rested her head on her hands, clenched together in an imitation of prayer. Then the idea came to her. </p><p>She straightened, hands still clasped, and closed her eyes, trying to remember. Who guided the lost? Who directed souls crossing boundaries? There had to be some deity, or spirit, or something . . .</p><p>The word <em>psychopomp</em> came to her. She remembered running into Il Bastone with Darlington, the rain coming down, as he explained the concept. She had been preoccupied with his stupid goddamn perfect feet, bare and warming by the fire after their mad dash through the downpour. </p><p><em>In ancient greek, the word translates literally to ‘guide of souls’,</em> he had said, his encyclopedic knowledge of the mystical once again making Alex roll her eyes to hide her awe. <em>There are examples throughout all cultures and religions. The Japanese</em> shinigami, <em>Filipino</em> anito, <em>Hermes and some others—</em></p><p><em>Virgil?</em> Alex had interrupted, only for the sake of it. Rather than fixing her with his usual politely disapproving glance, however, Darlington’s mouth had quirked into a strange little smile. </p><p><em>Careful, Alex, I’m starting to doubt your incompetence,</em> he had remarked, and she had tossed a wet sock at him. </p><p>She recalled the moment, reached out and clasped it tight. As Alex and the wraith spun in slow circles driven by the lazy current, Alex visualized the bond forming in her mind, the tether pulling her forward and the person attached to the other end. </p><p>She let the river of forgetting push the canoe forward, and clung to her memory. </p><p>.</p><p>Alex was unsure of how much time had passed in the canoe. The wraith had faded, and Alex was briefly concerned it would take the canoe with it, but the spirit had given her one final, indistinguishable look, as if to say <em>not one scratch, you hear?</em> And left her to it. </p><p>Just as the thought crossed her mind, it seemed the mists began to thin. Slowly, a riverbank emerged, waves lapping gently at a dark shore, and a lone figure sitting at its edge. As the mist further receded and details became clearer, she saw him. </p><p>Virgil. Gentleman. Demon. Darlington. </p><p>Her canoe rocked up against pebbles, and she used her oar to push it further ashore. Darlington stood, brushing off the same dark jeans he always wore, and reached out to pull the vessel clear of the water. As Alex rose unsteadily to disembark, he offered a hand. A clawed hand. </p><p>Alex studied it for a moment. Then she looked at Darlington. </p><p>“Well, it’s not going to bite,” He said. “Might prick a bit. But I never figured you for someone afraid of sharp things.” </p><p>Alex rolled her eyes and took his offered hand, claws and all.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p><em>When the canoe had finally disappeared into the mist completely, Darlington spoke up.</em> </p><p> <em>“Dante.” </em></p><p> <em>Alex responded in kind. “Virgil.”</em></p><p> <em>“I thought you might come, Stern. That’s your name, isn’t it?”</em></p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Bitch city<br/>population: me </p><p>Here I am, posting another chapter the same goddamn day as I posted the first one with the note 'I probably won't continue this' why am I this way </p><p>Thanks to the 2 folks who have given me kudos already y'all are the real stars here (edit: @ink_drunk and @gripyfish you are heroes among AO3 users and I don't deserve you) </p><p>once again, this was written in an absolute haze of rare inspiration and I have done ZERO editing . . . with that, enjoy</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>They sat in silence on the riverbank, watching the canoe drift away. Alex supposed it would return to the wraith, somehow. She was a little sad to see it go. </p><p>When the canoe had finally disappeared into the mist completely, Darlington spoke up. </p><p>“Dante.” </p><p>Alex responded in kind. “Virgil.”</p><p>“I thought you might come, Stern. That’s your name, isn’t it?” He said it casually, as if it weren’t earth shattering, as if they were sitting in the parlor in Il Bastone and drinking tea on a Thursday night, and no time had passed. </p><p>Alex studied the golden boy of Lethe, trying not to react to this new bomb dropped on the shambles of her life. “. . . You don’t remember?” </p><p>Darlington frowned, a clawed hand sweeping dark curls away from his face in a gesture so normal it made Alex almost want to cry. Then she noticed the red tint to his eyes. </p><p><em>You don’t know this creature,</em> she reminded herself. <em>You don’t know what he’s become, what’s left of the boy you knew. And really, what did you know of him anyways?</em> </p><p>“I remember too much,” Darlington said after a moment. “Things are brighter than they used to be, in my mind’s eye. It all mixes together here. Very obscure.” </p><p>He fixed those eyes on Alex, and it was breathtaking. “Not you, though. I could remember you very clearly. The look on your face as you watched me get eaten.” </p><p>Alex’s stomach dropped. She had been afraid there would be resentment, but she hadn’t let herself dwell on the idea—it would only distract her. Now she couldn't put it off any longer. </p><p>“I’m sorry,” she said, and hoped he could tell how much she meant it. </p><p>Darlington cocked his head to the side. “For what?” </p><p>“For not trying to save you.” Alex took a deep breath. “For lying.” </p><p>He nodded, then paused. Alex waited for his next query, and did not have to wait long. </p><p>“Did you hate me, then?” Darlington’s voice was flat, but there was something mournful to it. Not for the first time Alex was confronted with the stupid, unending morals of this boy—this man—this <em>demon</em>.</p><p>“I was afraid of you. But I only ever really hated myself.” </p><p>Darlington’s gaze grew distant, seeming to reach out far past the shore, across the Lethe river and into this strange in-between land. </p><p>“Imagine that,” he whispered. </p><p>.</p><p>After some time Darlington brought her to cave, inside which was an armchair and a desk and a fireplace. It all seemed terribly incongruous, the same way she felt when she now looked at her mentor. Like ill-fitting puzzle pieces. </p><p>Darlington sat on the desk while Alex took a seat, and began to explain the rite they were going to conduct. Darlington was suddenly all business in such a wonderfully familiar way, Alex could almost pretend they were getting ready for the average Thursday night. </p><p>“We need to secure your tether,” He said, arms crossed over his chest. “They will have to be strong enough for the both of us, if they intend to pull us out. Who did you have in mind?” </p><p>“Dawes,” Alex said. “Michelle volunteered, but I wanted her to guard the circle from Greys.” </p><p>Darlington frowned. “Dawes? I wouldn’t have expected that.” </p><p>Alex was confused for a moment, then remembered the relationship Dawes and she had had at the time Darlington went missing—distant, staying well out of each others’ spheres of influence. The only thing that had tied them together was Lethe, and Darlington. It was strange to think of that time, to reconcile the Dawes she had perceived then with the one she knew now. </p><p>“I trust her with my life,” Alex said, maybe a touch aggressively. Darlington raised his hands placatingly. </p><p>“Fine, good. Alright then.” </p><p>They worked quickly and quietly, with the bits of chalk Alex had brought along. There was a moment when Alex thought she was actually going to shit herself, when she complained about the dark and Darlington stuck his hand out and manifested a handful of fire from thin air.</p><p>As she stared at him, he shrugged. “Being a demon has its advantages.” </p><p>Alex had just been preparing to burn the little scrap of paper she had brought (“When you burn this,” Dawes had told her with a small smile holding her own piece of paper, “I’ll know it’s time to bring you home.”) when a thunderous roar sounded outside the cave. </p><p>Alex scrambled back from the cavemouth as jets of fire burst in. Darlington sighed in a deeply put-upon manner. </p><p>“Heavens forbid anything exciting happens without a damned Hellbeast charging in uninvited.” </p><p>. </p><p>Almost immediately Alex was knocked unconscious with a nasty, back-handed swing from the creature that sent her flying across the landscape. She awoke to the feeling of broken ribs, (and really, it said something about the lifestyle she lead that she had become so familiar with the sensation) to find not one, not two, but <em>three</em> of the cursed creatures bearing down on Darlington. </p><p>Darlington seemed to have thrown off the mantle of his human form, and was now a lean, towering figure of what seemed to be darkness solidified, accented with swirling patterns of gold that started around his eyes and trailed down his neck to branch over his arms and chest. <em>golden boy of Lethe indeed.</em></p><p>He moved faster than her eyes could keep track of, but Alex could tell he would be overwhelmed soon. The evil that radiated off the Hellbeasts was tangible, thick and suffocating in the air. Even as she forced herself to her feet, she fought the urge to retch, whether from pain or from the Hellbeasts’ miasma she didn’t know. </p><p>“Darlington,” She croaked, and then he was by her side, wrapping a glowing arm around her waist to keep her upright. </p><p>“Pardon me,” He said genially, even as he breathed sparks. “There’s too many; we should run while we can, return for the rite later.” </p><p>“No, we have to finish it. It won’t last.” </p><p>He frowned. “What won’t last? Rites can be reproduced.” </p><p>She shook her head. “Not this one. Listen—you trust me?” </p><p>He scoffed. “Certainly not.” </p><p>Alex couldn’t help her grin. “Tough shit. You need to finish the circle. Hopefully I can get back to you in time. Worst comes to worst we just send you, and I take the long walk home. But you need to go—that’s non-negotiable.” </p><p>Darlington was very still, but his arm tightened imperceptibly around Alex. She could practically hear his mind racing, running through the possibilities at impossible speed. “You . . . you can’t—”</p><p>She felt it, the moment his mind ground to a halt. His impossible eyes, that clear blue haloed with red light, met hers. </p><p>“Wheelwalker,” he breathed. “You—you’re going to summon the wheel.” </p><p>Alex nodded. She made to pull away, but he pulled her back to him, and suddenly they were very, very close, and Alex swore she could feel the golden light of him surrounding her. </p><p>“Make it back,” he breathed, “Don’t make me leave without you, Alex.” </p><p>
  <em>I will serve you ‘til the end of days.</em>
</p><p>She didn’t answer, didn’t make any promises. But before she tore away to face the advancing Hellbeasts, she clasped his face in her hands and pressed her mouth to his. </p><p>.</p><p>It was not a pretty battle. </p><p>The wheel burned bright, winged beasts appearing at the four spokes and descending with fire and rage upon the Hellbeasts. They roared, tossed their horned heads and clashed violently. </p><p>Alex felt the heat from the fiery wheel burning her. She welcomed it, pulled harder, made it spin faster. She felt her clothes burning away, and then her skin beginning to blister. </p><p>She couldn’t tell how long she stood at the entrance to the cave, the wheel spinning before her. It was hypnotic, the spinning, and she felt the kind of soothing numbness she had chased after since that first breath of weed. She felt she could stand there forever, that she wouldn’t mind letting the wheel spin her to oblivion. </p><p>It took a long moment for her to register Darlington’s shouting. He was calling to her from the cave. She scoured the landscape, but the Hellbeasts were gone—dead (could they die?) or retreated, she couldn’t know. </p><p>She lowered her arms, and the wheel began to fade. With it gone, the pain of her burns crashed down on her like a wave, and she crumpled. </p><p>Darlington was over her, around her, carrying her back to their ritual circle. She shoved Dawes’ paper into his fist, wincing as he clutched it in a shaking fist. Her last coherent thought was of Dawes, the fondly exasperated expression on her face. <em>Careful, Alex, you’re wrinkling the pages.</em></p><p>The Veil swirled around them, and Darlington curled his body around hers. Everything went dark.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>There you have it! I won't lie I'll probably write the last chapter and post it tomorrow. That or I won't look at this again for an entire year. There is no middle ground. </p><p>also I may or may not have a tumblr called trcult (never will forget my raven cycle days) ((she says, as if she's ever left them)) maybe drop by and reblarg my dumb Ninth House memes? idk </p><p>Thanks to anyone who has made it this far!!</p><p>edit: still working on the next chapter, most probably will post before Tuesday? maybe?</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>
  <em>Dawes and Michelle had been suitably awed when the demonic figure of Darlington had appeared in their ritual circle, cradling a charred Alex Stern in his arms. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Michelle had hesitated upon seeing the creature that was Daniel Arlington, only just beginning to revert back to his human form. Dawes had charged forward with zero qualms to fall to her knees beside them, face already haggard and tear-streaked from what had surely been a taxing rite. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Oh—Oh, Danny, you’re—Alex? Alex?!<em>"</em></em>
</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>ok, not exactly when I said I would post this but hey, we got there in the end </p><p>SO thrilled to get some more of my girl Pamela Dawes in here. They get so close over the course of Ninth House, I imagine their relationship would continue to prosper in Darlington's absence. </p><p>alright enough gabbing let's GOOO</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Dawes and Michelle had been suitably awed when the demonic figure of Darlington had appeared in their ritual circle, cradling a charred Alex Stern in his arms. </p><p>Michelle had hesitated upon seeing the creature that was Daniel Arlington, only just beginning to revert back to his human form. Dawes had charged forward with zero qualms to fall to her knees beside them, face already haggard and tear-streaked from what had surely been a taxing rite.</p><p>“Oh—Oh, Danny, you’re—Alex? <em>Alex?!</em> </p><p>Darlington was not sure what he expected, but it was certainly not Dawes pulling Alex from his arms and into her own, and shoving his hands away dismissively. Before he could protest, she began chanting through her sobs in . . . was it ladino? </p><p>Darlington was suddenly disoriented. There were thoughts, ideas, <em>emotions</em> suddenly slamming back into him that he had left behind when he was consumed and converted, things he seemed to have lost in translation during his time in Hell. All the too-bright, disorganized memories from his life before were sliding back into place. He had been in Hell for what seemed an eternity, and everything—his childhood, his hopes and dreams, all of it—had become a wash of color and sensation removed from what made him human. The world tilted beneath his feet.</p><p>Darlington reached for—he didn’t know. Alex? Dawes?—but felt a hand on his returned shoulder, once again human and covered in a dark sweater. </p><p>“She’s done this before, let her be.” Michelle, his Virgil, took Darlington by the arm and hauled him to his feet. He resisted feebly, muttered somethings about responsibilities and his Dante, as she practically frog-marched him to the Virgil room, where she shoved him into a seat. </p><p>“I’m sorry, Danny. Darlington.” Michelle was ashen-faced, circles under her eyes dark and her typically manicured and coiffed appearance apparently forgotten. Despite this, she was all business, her hands clamped firmly on his forearms, her eye contact unceasing. </p><p>“Michelle—why—”</p><p>“I’m so sorry, Darlington. I can’t begin to imagine how overwhelmed you are.” </p><p>Darlington shoved against her grip, and she responded by grabbing him by the shoulders and forcing him back into the seat. </p><p>“Michelle, Alex <em>needs</em>—” </p><p>“Hush. I need you to answer some questions. Then we can help Alex. Deep breaths, Danny, there you go.” She took a deep breath herself, as if to demonstrate. “Danny. She summoned the wheel, didn’t she?” </p><p>“She—” Darlington’s head was pounding. He forced himself back, before appearing in Il Bastone, Alex gripped in his arms. His mind fought him, but he pushed through the block. </p><p>“She . . . yeah. Yes. There were Hellbeasts.” </p><p>Michelle was nodding. “How many?” </p><p>“One, at first—then three, and Alex was knocked out, so I tried to keep them off her. I wanted to run, but she wouldn’t go, she told me I had to keep going on the rite.” </p><p>“How many then?” </p><p>“Maybe . . . maybe four. Michelle, <em>four Hellbeasts,</em> for Heaven’s sake, how did she—” </p><p>Michelle gave him a gentle shake. “Focus. During the summoning, what did you see?” </p><p>“There was—a circle. A wheel of fire. And winged things, lions maybe, fighting the Hellbeasts.” </p><p>Michelle cursed, then winced, and Darlington realized with a start that he was gripping her forearm so hard that his claws—<em>his claws?</em>—were drawing blood. He jerked his hands away, staring in shock. </p><p>Michelle was otherwise preoccupied. She left him seated and disappeared from his field of vision. Hopefully to get a bandage for her arms. “Holy <em>shit</em>,” he muttered, then gripped his head. It was like there were two Darlingtons in his mind, fighting for his attention, for superiority. There was a deafening roar in his ears. </p><p>Michelle returned, (unbandaged, he noted with distant dismay) bearing a chalice. She shoved it into his hands. </p><p>“Drink this, and you’ll feel better.” </p><p>He didn’t trust that for a <em>second</em>. “Michelle, we <em>need</em> to get to Stern—”</p><p>Michelle grabbed the chalice from his hands and drained it, then grabbed Darlington’s face and mashed her lips against his. In his shock, he didn’t close his mouth, and it was filled suddenly with the tang of bitter herbs and something fermented. She pulled away and smacked a hand over his lips, pinching his nose. He bucked in her grasp, but she was unrelenting, and he eventually had to swallow. </p><p>“<em>Michelle,</em> what on Earth . . .” He trailed off as he was struck with a wave of drowsiness. Once again, she helped him to his feet, albeit more gently this time. </p><p>“That sounds more like the Darlington I know. You did so well, Danny.” Suddenly he was a freshman again, sick from a hit of Hiram’s Bullet, Michelle leaning over him in bed and smirking and shaking her head while she patted his cheek. But she wasn’t smirking—she was sad, so sad, and Lord, he hoped <em>he</em> wasn’t the one who had put that look on her face. </p><p>The darkness was rapidly encroaching. The last thing he knew before he slipped under was Michelle, and she was apologizing to him for some reason, which he thought must be a dream because he didn’t think he had ever seen her do that. </p><p>.</p><p>When Darlington woke, his head was still pounding. It didn’t feel like his soul was splitting down the middle anymore, though, so he supposed he could count it as a victory. <br/>He sat up slowly in bed, bones and muscles groaning in equal measure with soreness, and recognized his surroundings are Virgil’s quarters in Il Bastone. They were familiar, but not in a particularly comforting way—he hadn’t spent enough time in them during his role as Virgil to shake off his estrangement, to invoke the sense of home that Dante’s quarters did, like Black Elm did. </p><p>The thought of his family home brought an ache he couldn’t immediately place; a sense of betrayal, of loss. He tried to focus in on it, but it only made his headache worse. He filed it away as an endeavor for a time when he didn’t feel like his skull was cracking open.</p><p>Darlington untangled his legs from the sheets and swung them around to plant his bare feet on the floor. Someone—Pammie, most likely—had been kind enough to remove his boots and socks, placing them neatly beside the closed door. He stared at his feet against the expensive carpet, naked and pale and . . . sharp. At the tips of each toe, there were dark, pointed claws where once there were toenails. As he focused on them, they began to recede, until all that was left were dark nails. He looked like the frontman for some kind of punk ensemble, he noted mournfully. </p><p>It was a wonder he hadn’t worn through the tips of his boots.</p><p>As he examined them, then his hands, a series of images flashed through his mind. Fire, then Pammie’s tear-streaked face. Michelle with blood staining the sleeves of her grey sweatshirt. Alex . . . </p><p>Lord, <em>Alex</em>. </p><p>Darlington rose from the bed, determining that he had rested long enough, and that it was time to make himself useful. He moved slowly, the way his grandfather did before he was bedridden, for the soreness that had settled into his limbs. He pulled on his socks (which did have holes in them, he noted with dismay) and boots, and made his way out of Virgil’s quarters. </p><p>First, he made his way to the kitchen—empty—where he was immediately waylaid by a sudden and all-encompassing hunger. Feeling like he was a teenager alone at Black Elm once again, he sheepishly raided the fridge for some cold cuts and cheese. </p><p>Then he moved on to the armory. The lights were on in the room, though it looked as though there had been some re-organizing. At the center, as ever, was Hiram’s Crucible. And in the massive golden bowl was Alex, submerged in a faintly milky liquid with herbs floating around her, and sound asleep. </p><p>Darlington was at the bowl before he even registered the movement of his feet. He reached out, then recoiled, realizing Alex was completely naked, and spun around to face the door, back to his sleeping Dante. He slid to a seat on the floor, leaning against the crucible. </p><p>Using the crucible for healing. The only thought he could form was <em>Jesus. Why didn’t I ever think of that?</em> As he pondered this, he remembered another slew of images; Alex at the center of a wheel of fire, her coat aflame, the skin of her outstretched arms turning pink, then red, then horribly, horribly black as creatures of light and darkness battled before them. An angel of vengeance, come to see justice done. </p><p>Wheelwalker. The term came to him, familiar and not; something he had learned while he was . . . </p><p>His brain came to a screeching halt. Not quite ready to go there, just yet. Darlington scrubbed a hand through his hair, then over his face. </p><p>“I’m no Greek mythology buff, but I seem to recall consequences for spying on women bathing.” </p><p>Alex’s voice was somnolent, a little rough, but she sounded . . . fine, despite having burned to a veritable crisp before his eyes. Darlington turned his head only slightly, enough to indicate he was listening without turning around. </p><p>“Artemis was a goddess, and Antaeus was a mortal. You are . . .” He trailed off. </p><p>Before he could fumble his foot into his mouth, Alex took mercy on him. “I’m sure I could find someone at Wolfshead to do me a favor. I bet you’d make a great deer.” She snickered weakly. “Deerlington, ha.” </p><p>He rolled his eyes. “That was despicable.” </p><p>“Aw, I bet you say that to all the girls.” </p><p>And there they were, again; Dante and Virgil, Alex and Darlington. Like no time had passed at all.</p><p>.</p><p>Darlington didn’t know how long he had been loitering in the armory, keeping Alex company while she finished healing. There was something in him insisting he stay, even though he was sure he had a whole slew of other matters that needed his attention. His memories were coming back in a steady stream, the longer he was awake; talking to Alex stopped them from overwhelming him in a rush of fear and anger. He knew the time would come to go through them, examine them carefully and catalogue what he needed while attempting to discard the rest, but that time was not now.</p><p>At one point Dawes had bustled in in a panic, followed closely by Michelle, to inform Alex Darlington had once again gone missing, only to find him in the armory with her. Darlington had expected a scolding from Michelle, but had in fact received a gentle but firm swat to the back of his head from none other than Pammie herself. It seemed the past few months with Alex had encouraged some of the steel he had glimpsed on occasion in her to emerge. He was weirdly proud, even as he rubbed the back of his head. </p><p>Darlington had now migrated over to a shelf, where he was having Alex go through Dawes’ new filing process for compulsion objects, much to her chagrin. Alex muttered something unintelligible behind him for about the fifth time, and he barked out a ‘speak up, please’ in a manner that reminded him entirely too much of his grandfather. </p><p>“I <em>said,</em> maybe you would be able to hear me if I was talking to your face and not your ass.” </p><p>Darlington hoped Alex didn’t see his ears turning red, but with his luck he was sure she clocked it immediately and stowed the information for later mockery. </p><p>“I see you never took my advice about propriety to heart.” </p><p>Alex scoffed. “I thought I told you I wouldn’t risk it. Anyways, you’d hardly be the first to see me naked.” </p><p>For some inane reason, he found this remark annoyed him. “Well, it would still be the first time <em>I</em> saw you naked,” he snapped. She didn’t respond immediately, and Darlington found himself going over the words in his head. What had he meant by that? He didn’t know. He didn’t know why it mattered. </p><p>With a sigh, Darlington turned to face the Golden Bowl, and Alex inside. She was faced away, her lean, tattooed arms resting on the edges of the bowl, sleek dark hair draped over bony shoulders. Perfectly at ease in this ancient, powerful vessel, from which generations of Lethe delegates had drunk for the precious ability to see past the Veil, that she already possessed. Darlington was reminded of that first day, of explaining Hiram’s Bullet to her, of her comparison to addiction. It seemed fitting, bizarrely—as the Crucible held the Orozcerio, it followed that it could hold Alex; just as powerful, just as dangerous. </p><p><em>Just as addictive,</em> his mind added, unprompted. Darlington blinked, and ushered the thought away. </p><p>He approached the bowl, grabbing a stool and dragging it along. Alex cocked her head to look over her shoulder. </p><p>“Ah, there’s our gentleman. I should have known your manners would get the better of you.” She smirked as he positioned himself opposite her on the stool, close enough to see her collarbones and above, but leaving the rest of her carefully obscured by the edge of the Crucible. </p><p>“Now,” Darlington began, gesturing back to the cabinet where the compulsion magic was housed. “If you wouldn’t mind explaining—”</p><p>Alex groaned and leaned her head back, exposing the column of her smooth, tan throat. Darlington felt his own throat tighten. He should have stayed over by the cabinet. Here he was far too susceptible to distraction.</p><p>“Oi, are you listening?” Alex’s head bobbed back up, frowning, and Darlington realized with a start that she had said something. </p><p>“Excuse me. What did you just say?” </p><p>She eyed him suspiciously. “Maybe you’re going deaf. We should get you a check-up with the campus clinic as . . . as soon as you’re up for it.” </p><p>Alex’s fumble wasn’t lost on Darlington. Her eyes drifted for a moment, as if looking for something other than him to land on, but then they were back to scrutinizing him. He was too disoriented to needle her about it. </p><p>“Anyways. I’m done talking about filing systems, it’s boring,” Alex announced decisively. Darlington rolled his eyes, but was secretly glad. He didn’t find the subject all that fascinating either, honestly. </p><p>“Let’s talk about Hell.” </p><p>Nevermind; Darlington would gladly go back to filing. </p><p>Alex turned to him and crossed her arms, leaning them against the edge and resting her chin on top of them. She would have looked vaguely childish were it not for the dark, hungry look in her eyes. Darlington got the same apprehensive feeling he would get were he faced suddenly with a rattlesnake preparing to strike. </p><p>“What . . . do you want to know?” He said cautiously, after letting her examine him for a long instant. He wouldn’t back away, even as warning bells chimed in his head. He knew she was challenging him; looking to get a rise out of him, to push his boundaries until he pushed back. He wouldn’t let her see his discomfort. </p><p>“Well, I guess first thing’s first: who did you murder?”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Next time: the spiderman pointing at himself meme but it's Alex and Darlington and they're murderers, not spiderman </p><p>ALSO: shamelessly took inspiration from <a href="https://phantomrin.tumblr.com/post/619568563858161664/since-its-still-mermay-heres-alex-as-an-undine">this art piece right here</a> (if the link doesn't work it's by phantomrin on tumblr, it's alex as Undine and it is . . . very sexy) </p><p>tbh Darlington during this scene is just me the first time I saw that art, like the thirst starts out lowkey, but it's gonna hit him like a brick soon </p><p>Also if you aren't following the Road to Hell yet, you best go get on that bc ink_drunk is truly bringing all the heat that I'm too scared to do GO READ IT! </p><p>Thanks xx</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>
  <em>“That was unfair,” she told him simply. “I’m sorry.” </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Unfair? Darlington had to bite down hard on the sudden impulse to laugh. Unfair was being thrown to a fate worse than death by the man who you trusted, who you looked up to. Unfair was growing up with a terrible secret, was being used for your abilities by people who had never had to suffer them Neither of them lived in the fantasy world where things were fair, anymore. He was only sorry she had been there for so long.</em>
</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>here I am again with the multiple update in one day. I can't LIVE like this </p>
<p>but I finished this chapter and I just had to post it . . . poor Darlington, the thirst is too real</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>Who did you murder?</em>
</p>
<p>A tingle ran down Darlington’s spine. In the chaos, in his relief to find Alex alive and not damaged beyond repair, Darlington had completely forgotten about the discovery of her part in the massacre where she’d been found, unconscious and near death. Now, she—a murderer—was asking about his own crimes, which he hadn’t realized he had revealed, until this moment. Lord, who knew? Alex, obviously. Michelle and Dawes, he supposed. Had they told anyone else? </p>
<p>“Darlington. Get a grip.” </p>
<p>The words echoed in his head, the shameful memory of that night at the Manuscript Halloween party abruptly clashing with his present panic. A star-spangled Alex seemed to layer momentarily over the bare-shouldered one in front of him, and his nerve endings were suddenly sparking with apprehension.</p>
<p>Once again Darlington forced himself out of his head and into the present discussion. “I . . . Alex, it’s not easy for me—”</p>
<p>“You think it was easy for me to tell you what I did at Ground Zero?” Alex’s voice had an edge of anger to it that prompted Darlington to recoil minutely, finally flinching under the scrutiny of the rattle snake. He looked away for a moment, ashamed of his own weakness, to gather himself. When he looked at Alex once again, though, there was no anger there.<br/>She was staring past him, a muscle in her jaw working, her expression unreadable. She met his eyes and he was disturbed to find them mournfully blank. </p>
<p>“That was unfair,” she told him simply. “I’m sorry.” </p>
<p>Unfair? Darlington had to bite down hard on the sudden impulse to laugh. Unfair was being thrown to a fate worse than death by the man who you trusted, who you looked up to. Unfair was growing up with a terrible secret, was being used for your abilities by people who had never had to suffer them Neither of them lived in the fantasy world where things were fair, anymore. He was only sorry she had been there for so long alone. </p>
<p>“It was my grandfather,” Darlington said, surprising himself with the steadiness of his voice. Alex didn’t react, mercifully. Only watched, the dark pools of her eyes accepting all the broken parts of him. </p>
<p>“How did it happen?” </p>
<p>“He raised me, and when I was fifteen, he got sick. He asked me to do it. I’d never disobeyed him before, and I wasn’t about to start.” Darlington knew that Alex could tell there was more to the story, but she didn’t push. So he steeled himself, and said, “Your turn. What really happened at . . . at Ground Zero?” </p>
<p>Alex’s shoulders rose, her eyes dark. Back in her fighter’s stance. Darlington had the sense that he ought to brace himself, all of a sudden. </p>
<p>“He was this . . . “ Alex paused, unable to find the word. When she did, it came out a whisper. “Monster. He liked to hurt girls. But he was the brother of the guy Len—I mean, my ex—the guy he was moving product for. So Len said we had to keep him happy.” </p>
<p>Darlington was horrified and fascinated in equal measure to hear the catch in her voice. He had seen Alex scared, angry, frustrated, horrified. But he had never seen her so sad. </p>
<p>“Hellie . . . she was scared of us getting kicked out. I told her we could figure it out, but she had been homeless before, and she was terrified of it. I wasn’t home, and that, that <em>beast</em>, he fucked her while she overdosed. When I got back, at first I thought she was still alive, but it was . . . I was seeing her Gray.” </p>
<p>Alex shrinks away from the edge of the Crucible, drawing her knees up through the liquid and wrapping her arms around them. Less Undine, less dagger-toothed rusalka, more a scared girl who had seen far too much darkness. </p>
<p>“They were trying to get rid of her body, but I could still see her <em>right there</em>, and that <em>motherfucker</em> was just laughing like an idiot. I . . . I thought I could get her to stay with me. So I let her in.” </p>
<p>As Alex finishes, her jaw is clenched so tight the words barely have room to slip out. She tosses a fleeting glance at Darlington, daring him to speak. He, the gentleman of Lethe, boy of infinite manners, could only think of one terribly inadequate reply. </p>
<p>“She didn’t deserve that. Neither of you did. Alex, I’m so sorry.” Cautiously, Darlington reached out,  placed a hand on her shoulder. Alex brushed away her tears, but she didn’t brush him off like he expected her to. </p>
<p>“What are you sorry for?” She chuckled wetly. </p>
<p>Darlington knew what he was sorry for; that she had suffered under this burden for so long, while the knights of Lethe watched in silence. For his complicity, in not realizing the damage his precious society had done until she forced him, unwilling, to face it. For being ready to throw her upon the mercy of Sandow and the rest of the Lethe board, even knowing the part they had played in her misery. But he didn’t know how to tell her all of that, so he shrugged. </p>
<p>“I’m just sorry.” He was unsure of them even as the words left his lips, but her shoulders relaxed slightly, so he supposed it wasn’t the worst thing he could have said.</p>
<p>“Well, I’m sorry I let you get dragged to Hell. So . . . I guess we can call it even.”</p>
<p>It wasn’t, but if she was willing to pretend, he could too. </p>
<p>. </p>
<p>They talked about other things, after that. What Darlington had missed, what was coming back to him from Hell. They stayed away from heavier subjects for the most part—Darlington was sure Alex was just as inexperienced with sharing secrets as he was, and he was happy to focus on recovering from the emotional baggage they had jointly dropped. </p>
<p>Dawes and Michelle came in and announced they were leaving for Dawes’ apartment, but if <em>anything</em> came up they were to call immediately. There were instructions about Alex’s care from Dawes (essentially, get some damn sleep) and a half-assed remark from Michelle about contacting the Lethe board (her nose wrinkled, and Darlington was dying to hear just how <em>that</em> particular development had come to pass.) Dawes gave them both as threatening a look as she could manage (not very threatening by anyone’s standards, but Darlington was suitably cowed considering it was Dawes.) Michelle planted a loud, wet kiss on Darlington’s head, which Alex snickered at until Dawes wrapped an arm around her and squeezed tight—then she looked faintly like she might cry again. Darlington could shamelessly admit he wished to avoid this, so in an ill-advised attempt at humor, he told Michelle ‘goodnight, mom,’ earning himself a smack to the back of the head and a threat to send him straight back to the other side of the Veil. </p>
<p>After the women had left, the two of them sat in silence until Alex began to fidget. Abruptly, she rose out of the Crucible, which now appeared to be filled with water. For a split second, Darlington glimpsed her—water cascading over the tattooed expanse of her skin, glittering in the low light of the armory—before he whipped around, back to her once more. </p>
<p>“For <em>goodness’ sake,</em> Stern, some warning next time!”</p>
<p>He heard her laugh, gravelly and tired. “Oops, forgot about the signal fires. Next time, I swear.” She paused, considering. “Do we keep any towels in this place?” </p>
<p>He pursed his lips, then with a sigh, unbuttoned his own charcoal oxford, stripped it off, and blindly held it out behind him. </p>
<p>“Here.” He practically could hear her mulling the offer over. Finally, the cloth was snatched from his hand, and he heard rustling as she put it on. </p>
<p>“I’m swooning, Darlington. You really know how to treat a girl.” </p>
<p>He rolled his eyes, and turned back to her when he heard the rustling stop. “We’ll find you something to wear in . . . the, ah . . .”</p>
<p>The sight of his Dante, skin still water-slick, with nothing but his own shirt on to cover her, brought his mind to a screeching halt. His heart started hammering in his chest. Once again, he was catapulted to that night at Manuscript—his shirt stopped only slightly above the place on her thighs where her dress that night had, and the droplets of water gave the same effect as that glitter had. </p>
<p>Darlington realized he had been staring a moment too long, and apprehensively looked to Alex’s face, but she herself seemed just as distracted. Her eyes were fixed on a point somewhere below his chin, and there was a faint pink tinting her cheeks. Was she . . . ? </p>
<p><em>No,</em> He told himself firmly, and forced his eyes away from her rosy cheeks and dark eyes. <em>Absolutely not. We are not going there, or anywhere remotely </em>near<em> there.</em> </p>
<p>He cleared his throat, and Alex blinked. “Oh, yeah. I actually think I left some Lethe sweats in the Dante room.”</p>
<p>They departed from the armory, and Darlington was faintly surprised to look out a window and see that it was night—in the Veil, there was an ever-present grey, no sunshine nor moonlight. But it was a clear, mid-fall evening, and while no stars were visible above New Haven, the moon shone crisp and bright as a new nickel. </p>
<p>Suddenly he longed for the sun; he almost wanted to kick himself for squandering what little of it he might have had access to, while he was sleeping off the return ritual. <em>Tomorrow,</em> he promised himself. <em>I’ll rise early and watch the sunrise, tomorrow.</em> </p>
<p>Darlington made his way down the hall with Alex, who’s eyelids were beginning to droop. When was the last time she had slept? Before she set out on her journey to find him? He was starting to feel the weight of weariness, and he had already slept. </p>
<p>Darlington was faintly surprised when they came to Dante’s quarters, and Alex continued to follow him down the hall towards Virgil’s. He chalked it up to her fatigue. </p>
<p>“This is your stop, Stern.” He watched as Alex shook herself a little, and turned to push open the door. She paused with her hand on the doorknob, and turned back to him. </p>
<p>“I’ll get you your shirt back tomorrow morning, I guess. Darlington . . .” She paused, and he studiously ignored the way she chewed her lip. But then she was coming closer, very close, in fact. She tilted her head up to face him, and his brain conveniently decided to quit any rational thinking as the scent of milk and herbs and something spicy consumed his senses. Her hair, cool and damp, brushed his nose. </p>
<p>She pressed her lips to his cheek. </p>
<p>“ . . . I’m glad you’re back.” </p>
<p>She flashed him that same, wry grin, and turned away. A part of him was desperate to follow, to grab her by the sleeve of his own shirt and spin her back around and . . . The door clicked shut. Darlington felt vaguely feverish, and not remotely as though he could fall asleep any time soon. </p>
<p>
  <em>Damn her.</em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>"it's not as if I lay awake at night thinking about her . . . oh no" </p>
<p>In all seriousness though, thanks to those of you who have made it this far. I truly have no idea where I'm going with this or when it will end, I'm just as much along for the ride as any of you, which is terrible bc I am steering this vehicle </p>
<p>ok it is officially past my bedtime THANK YOU AND GOODNIGHT</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>So there you have it, my self-indulgent imagine of what comes next! Of course I have no idea what's actually coming and knowing our woman Bardugo it will hurt a LOT more, but a gal can dream, and write that dream down, and publish it on the internet as fanfiction. </p><p>There MAY be more, but I would probably not bet money on it</p></blockquote></div></div>
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